


F(amily) E(ndurance) A(ffection) S(upport) T(rust)

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FEAST Centre, Gen, POV Multiple, Post-Game(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: Martin Li leaves behind a legacy, the best part of himself, in Feast. In the people there and in what it represents, and what it means to the city. Peter Parker helps people, it's what he does; in a suit or in a lab coat or in a shelter where the people know him and love him like family. Feast brings out the best in people because it believes the best is already there and it'll help that best shine through golden and spectacular.





	1. A family for an orphan

**Author's Note:**

> This entire story was inspired by my incredible love for this game, it's plot and just it's Spider-Man. Insomniac did such an amazing job with my childhood hero and this is in tribute to the amazing job they did. This will include spoilers for the main game as well as hints at the DLC but nothing specific as it takes place directly after the final boss fight. 
> 
> This story is also inspired by [ this text post](https://infinityonhighvevo.tumblr.com/post/181760514437/good-night-im-still-annoyed-that-at-the-end-of) by infinityonhighvevo who gave me permission to use their idea.

Norman’s gonna pay for the funeral. Norman’s gonna pay for _every_ funeral. Everyone that died during the Devil’s Breath Pandemic, as the press is calling it, gets their funeral personally paid for by Mayor Norman Osborn.

People clock in immediately, screaming on social media about PR stunts and damage control, shouting about how the victims and their families should sue for damages. Peter wonders who’d even have the money to lawyer up against Norman and doesn’t even try calculating how much that would cost.

Norman’s gonna pay for Aunt May’s funeral, he’s shelling out way more than he should, it’s so much more, but Peter’s too wrung out-exhausted to care. When he gets the call, he’s still in his suit, still sweaty and bloody, and just trying to catch his freaking breath. Miles is out in Feast, running up and down with food and anti-biotics and bandages and whatever else he’s got going on, and MJ’s racing off to the Bugle.

This is a scoop, the biggest controversy the city’s seen in a long time, and she’s gotta get on top of that. A first hand account of what went down from her snooping could get her that promotion she wants; she can't hang around here when something like that's on the line. Plus, it's not like she's abandoning him or anything, she just...she has things to do. And Peter doesn’t…he doesn’t blame her and he’s not…mad.

He’s not anything really. He’s just sitting in the make-shift infirmary, sitting behind a bunch of boxes while Dr Michaels works with Oscorp to make more of the cure. Peter knows just having the sample isn’t enough, there’s so much more to mass producing a viable antiserum than just replicating a single sample. There's so much more, so much work, and people are dying while it happens, still dying, all across the city. Peter knows he should be out there, helping, fighting, doing _something_ other than hiding behind some boxes in a corner like he’s some scared kid hiding from monsters.

He’s _Spider-Man_ , and two of the most important people in his life knew that, and he didn’t even realise. He’s Spider-Man, and his city’s in shambles. He’s Spider-Man, and his aunt is dead.

“Hey um, so you left the water last time but I figure you probably haven’t eaten anything since well you know.”

Peter doesn’t look up as Miles comes close, he pulls his mask down back over his head and covers his face, but he doesn’t look up. MJ knows, Dr Michaels might suspect now, but Miles doesn’t deserve to get dragged into this mess too. Or maybe he knows, and Peter just missed it, he doesn’t know anymore.

“Anyway, I don’t know what you like but I got some pasta and meatballs here, and there’s some uh fried rice down in the kitchen, or I can get you a sandwich if you-if you want that instead.”

Miles stands just beyond the boxes, out of sight, and Peter’s grateful for that. Miles is so, so helpful, even though he’s just a kid that got wrapped up in all of this. Dad died because Spider-Man wasn’t there, damn it, his dad was up on that stage because _Spider-Man_ had to step in and poke his nose where it didn’t need to be.

Spider-Man basically got his dad killed and here this kid is, offering to get him more food if he doesn’t like what he already brought. Peter wants to melt through the floor, just slip through the tiles and down into the basement. He doesn’t want to _feel_ anything, or do anything, or say anything.  

“I’ll just uh, put this here for you,” a hand rests a plastic bowl on the ground just beyond the first box then disappears again, “and just yell if you want anything else, or text, whatever’s good.”

Peter listens while Miles walks away, hears each step echoing in the mostly empty room, off the scuffed tiles. He listens until Miles is gone and there’s nothing but the buzzing of the flaky lights in the not-really-an-infirmary, then slowly, carefully, he creeps forward and snatches up the bowl. For a second, he tries snagging it with a web, but he hasn’t had the chance to switch out his ruined shooters yet.

Hasn’t had a chance to do much yet. Not two hours after his Aunt died in this very room and he’s still moving like a cold, skittery spider. God, he’s letting everyone down, he needs to get back up, but he can’t. His hands are almost too heavy to lift, and his fingers are too clumsy to get the lid off, he ends up biting a corner and just pulling it off with his teeth.

Miles forgot to give him a fork but Peter doesn’t really care, he fumbles off a glove and grabs a couple slippery noodles. His hand shakes, trembles, as he holds those noodles, and his breath hitches in his throat but he doesn’t have anymore tears to cry. He did enough of that when Aunt May flatlined, then he did some more when MJ led him away to this corner, and then again after Norman’s secretary called.

“ _Mr Parker, I’m calling on behalf of Mayor Osborn. He offers his sincerest condolences for the loss of your Aunt, May Parker, and would like to inform you that a fund has been set up to cover her funeral expenses. The Mayor has extended this offer to everyone lost to GR-27 and you are free to accept or decline. The pin and account numbers will be sent to you in the following hours, during which you have seven business days to access the fund._

_Once more, we extend our sympathies for your loss and hope you support our recovery efforts in the coming months. Thank you for your time.”_

Peter didn’t get a chance to say anything, not to ask how they knew Aunt May was dead, not to ask why he was getting called so soon. Why Norman seemed to care about the victims now when he hadn’t during the actual pandemic. Why Norman was paying for funeral costs instead of hospital bills.

He hadn’t even gotten a chance to say thank you before the woman hung up on him and left him with a dial tone humming in his ear. Now, he’s here, sitting on the floor and eating pasta with his hands because what else can he do? A lot actually, so it's more, what else does he _want_ to do? 

...the noodles are good, soft, moist, and the meatballs are even better. The first few bites are a chore, repetitive; bite, chew, swallow, do it over. He has to make himself eat, remind himself that he hasn’t had a proper meal since…since he can’t really remember. He’s been snatching bites between fights, getting more fluids from IV drips than actually drinking anything.

After those first few, mechanical forced bites though, his hunger catches up to him and he shovels food in his mouth as fast as he can. He barely chews before he swallows and stares, confused, when the bowl’s empty and he’s still hungry. He can barely remember what the meatballs tasted like and licks his fingers sadly, looking at the empty bowl.

He’s still hungry, _geeze_ , he’s so hungry. Miles brought him a big helping, the biggest bowl in the kitchen, but Peter’s starving. His stomach’s cramping up cause he hasn’t had a real meal in so long and what he just had wasn’t even near enough. He barely remembers to yank on his glove before he jumps up and leaves the infirmary, for the first time in hours, he leaves his little spidey-hidey hole because he’s hungry. Aunt May would be so smug.

He’s unsteady on his feet, uses the wall to keep himself moving, fingers trailing along the paint and maybe dragging some of it off by accident. Oops.  

Feast is…not as bad as Peter thought it might be, there’s stuff everywhere, bits of garbage and makeshift beds cause they didn't have enough. More people came here during the pandemic than they’re used to, probably had to make do with what they had on hand for a while too. He’s careful to step around the trash, doesn’t want to crinkle any wrappers and have every eye on him, he’s not ready for that yet.

Usually the people coming to Feast are really good about taking care of their trash, they use the bins, or take it with them when they leave again but the garbage trucks haven’t been running. Doesn’t matter how clean people are, the trash piles up when there’s no one to take it away. Hopefully, they’ll start running again soon, and things can start going back to normal.

Peter kind of expected a crowd in the main room, what with all the extra beds and all, but there’s not many people. Maybe enough for a regular night, sitting in chairs and talking together, wandering around and stuffing trash in bags. There’s a group of people clustered around the tv, watching the news, and there’s another group over by the entrance, probably deciding whether it’s safe to go out or not.

None of them give him more than a passing glance, just a quick look, a short nod, then they’re back to whatever they were doing. Peter feels he should stop, check on everyone, is Marty okay? How’s the cold treating Lydia’s bad knee? What about Gloria? He should be checking in but he can’t, his stomach’s keeping his feet moving and on a bee line for the kitchen.

Then…he freezes, sways and clutches at the doorframe. The kitchen is a mess, no worse than an after-dinner rush, so a familiar mess. Such a familiar mess. Peter doesn’t work at the shelter, he’s never been on the payroll as an actual employee and his name barely shows up as a volunteer, but he knows Feast. He’s been visiting as long as Aunt May’s been here, helping her in the kitchen, getting to know the people that stop by for a meal or a dry bed.

Peter’s joked with Aunt May in this kitchen, told her about his break-up with MJ, sat down with her after a late shift and really talked to her about Ben. He’s told her about being worried about what he’s gonna do with his life, he’s explained his work with Dr Octavius and why he was so happy to be working with a man like that. They’ve spent more time in this kitchen than they have in the apartment she moved into after he went off to college.

Aunt May’s had him scrub pasta sauce off the walls after someone got too rowdy, she’s directed workers during pre-blizzard rushes, told them where to store the food and who should be where. She had her office but she liked the kitchen just as much, liked to make people a cup of tea here and have a chat with them, when they needed it. She’s sat at the counter, having a late lunch, laughing at terrible jokes, talking with her co-workers, giving people advice.

She _lived_ here, and it’s too soon. He can’t—can’t make himself walk in, no matter how hungry he is. Aunt May should be here, not him, this is her place, where she’d be directing people, helping people. She should be here…but she’s not, and she’s never gonna be again, and wow, maybe he has a few tears left.

Peter slaps a hand over his mouth, over the mask, and forces himself to breath, just freaking _breathe_ Parker. No, Spider-Man, breathe Spider-Man, because he's in the suit and he didn't know May Parker, not...really. He saved her, of course he saved her, from that fire at the veteran's centre but he's not supposed to know her. That would be a give away, such a huge give away, and--and he can't pretend he doesn't know his own Aunt!

 “Oh hey, you uh, wanted something else?” Miles asks, turning when he spots Peter— _Spider-Man_ standing in the door. Damn it, he shouldn't be here, he should leave, but Miles is looking at him with expectant eyes. And what does he see? Spider-Man, his hero, standing in the doorway, leaning against it with his hand over his mouth. Does he look as shaky and fragile as he feels? 

Peter doesn’t know what to say, how to say anything, he’s all out of quips and jokes. There’s a tension building in his throat, piling up between his eyes, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. All he can do is let his hand fall away from his mouth, drop limp and useless at his side and glance away. 

“Uh, here, sit here,” Miles takes charge instead, snagging Peter around the wrist, fingers gentle where his shooters are busted. He leads Peter to the same chair Aunt May would sit at sometimes, sit and chat with her co-workers and the volunteers.

Peter wants to jump out of it, throw himself on the ceiling and scuttle out of the room, but Miles doesn’t let him. He’s gentle but firm as he sits Peter down, helps him like he’s afraid Spidey’s gonna fall apart in his hands, and gives him a little pat on the shoulder when he finally eases into the chair.

There’s a tingle racing up and down his spine, an ache really, but for once it isn’t his spider sense. Might be nerve damage actually, from getting smacked around so much tonight, or it might be the blood loss. Geeze, he’s got so much going on.

“So we’ve got coke, or is Spidey a pepsi guy? Or, crap, will that mess up your exercise routine? Cause we’ve still got tons of water. A guy came by a couple hours ago and dropped off a bunch of cases and I don’t really know where those go so I just piled them up by the door,” Miles babbles, turning his back on Peter to dig around in one of the industrial freezers. He’s still so energetic, even after everything that happened, and Peter remembers him being here when Sable dragged him in. Has this kid slept yet? Called his mom?

“Anything’s…fine,” Peter grunts, surprising himself with how wrecked he sounds. His voice is all gravel, shredded, and he can feel the start of a cough at the back of his throat but swallows it down. He can’t get sick on top of everything else, and he can’t get Miles sick either.

“It’s okay to choose y’know, really, coke or pepsi?” Miles teases, still gentle, but less like the star-struck kid and more like the guy Peter started to know. They really haven’t spent much time with each other, have they? Not as much as they should. 

He was too busy chasing villains across the city and dealing with the Kingpin’s fallout and doing so much and not enough. Miles was here when sick people started showing up and Peter knows going out to track down a cure and protect people was just as important but well.

He knows a lot of things…objectively. He knows that tracking down a cure was just as important as taking care of the sick. He knows that—that saving the city, saving millions of people, was the right choice to make, and Aunt May would never have forgiven him if he saved her instead. Peter _knows_ that, but, it’s objective, the logical scientist part of him.

The rest of him keeps thinking he didn’t do enough. That he should’ve been there when the fire broke out at Feast. He shouldn’t have taken a nap after dealing with Vulture and Electro, he shouldn’t have spent all that time trying to help people that didn’t want his help. Li, Doc, he tried so hard but maybe it wasn’t enough or maybe he shouldn’t have tried so long, cut his losses when he had the chance

Maybe if he took the chance to take out Doc, if he really tried instead of pulling his punches and letting his heart guide him instead of his brain, maybe he could’ve saved more people. Maybe Aunt May and Officer Davis would be here. Or they’d be out there, helping even more people. Peter doesn’t know, can’t ever know.

“Coke,” he says, and Miles grins, smiles so big like he just won gold, and slides a can over. His fingers are stiff, bruised his brain tries to tell him, and he can’t get a grip on the little tab. All these spider powers, can stick to anything and hit harder than a truck, and he can’t open the tab on a can of coke. He definitely wants to cry again.

“You’re still hungry right? I was gonna make sandwiches and I guess you don’t have a preference?” Miles says, taking the can from his fumbling fingers and opening it easy as pie, sliding a straw in there too because hey, if Spidey can’t open a can, maybe he can’t drink either.

He doesn’t want to drink anything by the time he can but his stomach’s running the show again and he’s got no choice anymore. So, he sucks down his coke like a dying man in the desert even though the sugar makes his teeth ache and the cold almost burns, his spider sense is cranked up to eleven and everything's too much, what can he do? Just drink the coke, and then take the other one Miles slides over while he digs out a pack of lunch meats and an industrial sized block of cheese, and hey, there's even some wilty lettuce.

“So, I uh, called my mom last night, after the fire, and she told me to stick around here for a while. The hospitals are packed and she’s gotta stay there until they get a handle on everything, it was pretty bad over there, lots of doctors were sick and nurses too. Oh, my mom’s a nurse, but she uh, she's fine, just tired. She texted me after Dr Michaels got back to Oscorp and said they’re gonna set up vaccine tents across the city, wants me to help when they get up and running,” Miles says and Peter nods along.

Miles fills up the silence, keeps everything easy and smooth, and all Peter has to do is drink his coke and listen. When Miles finishes one sandwich, he slides half over and stuffs the other half in his mouth. Peter thinks about not showing his face, any part of it, for a while before his stomach gurgles loud enough that Miles starts laughing and decides screw it. This kid’s as good as they get and he’s hungry.

The first one is turkey and cheese, then there’s ham and wilty lettuce, and chicken flat, and at some point a jar of mayo ends up on the table so that gets thrown in too. Miles keeps sliding over sandwiches, barely stops talking, and hits Peter with a look that keeps him eating when he thinks about stopping. Not a lot of people know how much he can actually eat if he lets himself, not even May because he was careful around her, but Miles is a smart kid.

He seems to know a lot about Spider-Man, all the villains, all hero-work; he probably figured all that took a lot of fuel. Which it does, but Peter never really gets to hit full, his wallet would cry if he did but that’s fine. He doesn’t need to be stuffed or anything to be Spider-Man, it’s fine.

Now though, he’s at past empty, way past, and Miles probably realised that. They’re five sandwiches in when sunlight starts falling through the windows and the shift changes. People start filtering through the kitchen, employees that Peter knows, volunteers that Miles doesn’t, a few shelter regulars. None of them say much, just a good morning or two, and stopping to help make a few sandwiches to hand out to the early morning crowd.

At some point Miles hops up next to Peter, munching on something with way too much mayo, and Peter works his way through a double decker cheese and turkey. How much has he eaten? No idea. Is his stomach still trying to digest itself? Nope.

He’s just sitting, having a few dozen sandwiches with his friend in a place he knows pretty well. There’s nothing to think about except the methodical chewing that keeps him occupied. Miles talks with the people who pass by, telling them what needs doing and what ca wait, and Peter eats. Some of the regulars show up and he waves at them, too tired to remember whether or not they know Spidey too.

Doesn’t really matter though, everyone in New York knows Spidey, and everyone waves back at him. No one says anything about Aunt May, well except some of the workers, they ask Miles and he tells them…something, Peter tunes out. For the most part, no one talks about Aunt May, not around him, because Spider-Man didn’t know her, she wasn’t _his_ aunt.

“Uh, that’s my mom, she says she’s on her way home,” Miles says eventually, and Peter notices the phone in his hands. There’s also dark bags under his eyes and isn’t today a school day? Although, all the schools have been closed since the Devil’s Breath outbreak started so who knows.

Peter doesn’t have to look at the clock on the wall to know it’s late morning or that they’ve both been up longer than they really should’ve been. Miles doesn’t have Peter’s stamina, he’s probably exhausted, and instead of resting, he spent the last few hours with Peter. He definitely owes the kid a pizza or something.

“You want an escort? I should probably get going myself, see how the city’s doing,” and maybe get some sleep in there somewhere. Check in with Yuri then…he still doesn’t have a place to stay. The lab maybe?

No one…no one should be there anymore and they have a cot, Otto used to—he used to sleep there when work kept him later than he expected it would. Peter can sleep there, then he’ll get to work putting his city back together. Then after that, he’ll check that fund Norman set up and get started on the funeral prep. 

God the funeral prep. He's still got Uncle Ben's tux tucked away at May's, decided it was safer to let her keep it for him than keep it himself. Or, should he get a new one? Or a semi new one? That was Uncle Ben's tux, the one he got married to Aunt May in, the one he kept and gave to Peter even before Peter was big enough to wear it. He can't, he doesn't think he can wear it to Aunt May's funeral. 

Then after the funeral there'll be so much to do, Aunt May didn't even have a will, Peter doesn't think. He doesn't want to think at all. 

“Nah, it’s fine, my friend’s dad’ll pick me up,” Miles brushes him off, dragging Peter out of his thoughts, sliding out of his seat and taking both of their plates to the sink. Peter almost wants to say it’s no problem, least he can do, but he stops himself. Miles made his plans, it’d be rude to mess with them now, plus he doesn’t have much time to spread around.

“Man, I’m gonna sleep for a week,” Miles laughs, patting Peter on the shoulder again, and grinning. This time it’s tired, worn thin at the edges, and Peter can so relate, it’s been a long, long night.

“Me too, maybe even two,” he mumbles, fidgeting just a little because what else does he do now? Miles is probably gonna wait for his ride in the shelter, get a text when they pull up outside, and now that Peter doesn’t have anything else occupying him, he’s a little lost.

“Uh, before you do that, can you look for someone? Peter Parker, he’s…well I don’t know where he is, everything was happening and I guess we lost track of each other,” Miles mumbles, playing with his hoodie strings and Peter’s heart stutters.

Does Miles know? Does he know _too_? This whole thing was just—just a lead up into breaking it to him gently?

Miles smiles, hesitant and weak, and Peter feels fragile, feels old and tired. He feels like one more revelation is going to send him flying in every direction and he doesn’t know how long it’ll take to get all of him together again.

“I dunno if he knows about May and I wanna make sure he’s okay, y’know? He’s a good guy, he’s probably out there helping people, and I don’t want him to hear from a stranger. I mean, not that we’re best friends or anything but I guess I’m better than some random hospital worker,” and there Miles goes rambling again, filling up the silence when Peter can’t.

Everything about him looks tense, on edge, _uncomfortable_ , like he hasn’t been all night. Miles is worried about him, him **_Peter Parker_** not him Spider-Man, and it helps his heart beat right again. Helps him figure out what he wants to say, what he can say, without being suspicious. There’s not much left in him to be stealthy right now, but there’s enough.

“He uhm, Parker that is, he’s safe. I uh needed his help to take down Octavius, cause he helped build the arms and all. I’ll make sure he texts you soon, or I could tell him, we’re uh, we’ve known each other for a while. It’s probably better if I tell him actually, y’know, break it to him gently, and you should get some rest, you did a great job Miles,” and now Peter’s rambling, back to rambling. His mouth’s all he’s got left, no shooters, no strength, so it’s time to talk, talk, talk until people stop asking questions.

Miles doesn’t look overwhelmed though, he just looked relieved, shoulders dropping, jaw unclenching. If he had to, he would’ve told Peter about May, that’s…Peter doesn’t want to get into what that is just yet. Still too soon, too raw, but he forces a watery smile that Miles can’t see. Principle of the thing really.

“Yeah well, you too Spidey. You saved the city, everyone here’s really proud of you, and hey, if you need it, Feast’s always here for Spidey,” Miles says, and it’s so sincere, God it’s sincere.

Peter decides it’s time to leave before he just starts crying then and there, cause he’s happy this time sure but it’d still be crying. He does a jerky little tip of the head and salute combo and jumps straight for the window on the second floor. Remembers too late his shooters are _still_ busted and ends up balancing on the railing for a second before really jumping out the window.

From there it’s easy to scale the building up to the roof where he’s got spare clothes and shooters. From up there, he hears Miles leaving, thanking the man that comes to pick him up and then he’s gone. Then, Peter checks his phone and tons of messages MJ’s been sending him about the clean up around the city and Oscorp’s part in all of it.

And after there’s a message from Yuri, who doesn’t need help, just checking in. Somehow, miraculously, it looks like everything’s gonna be okay, at least for a little while, and Peter doesn’t have to feel so guilty about heading straight for the lab.

Feels a little bad about leaving Feast behind but, but he’ll come back. They’ll need more help than ever with Li and May gone, the director and operations manager gone in one blow, not good. Maybe Peter can call some people, get a few options up, do some more volunteer work in between city clean up.

Yeah, yeah it’ll be fine, Feast’ll be fine, and he’ll be fine too. After a nap. Or twelve, or a coma. Some rest and he'll be ready to be a friendly neighbourhood spider-Man again.


	2. and the city does what it does best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the thing is, even when everything goes straight to shit, there's always a tomorrow. Always something more, always something else. Gotta pick up the pieces, gotta get back to work, gotta get back to life, maybe not so soon though. Maybe they can take a break first.

When his dad died, schedules got thrown out the window and Miles got used to everything just happening when they happened. He’d wake up at eight or nine or ten or six, for therapy sessions, to meet insurance people with his mom, for school. No more waking up at half six to get ready for school and eat some breakfast, no more getting shooed out the door because he was gonna be late and his dad was already waiting. No more picking up Ganke or getting picked up by Ganke and barely managing to make it to class through the morning rush.

Some days he woke up when his mom came to get him, said they had funeral arrangements to sort out or important people to meet that wanted to talk about how dad died because no one knew who did it. Other days his alarm woke him up and he’d go out to meet Ganke for class. Some days he just stayed in bed as long as possible, all the way into the afternoon cause it was just too much effort to get up.

People were accommodating back then, even if he wasn’t. His mom listened when he said he didn’t want to go to therapy, let him go to Feast instead. Peter didn’t get mad when Miles snapped, or when Miles got quiet. Even Aunt May was really nice to him, she’d sit him down in the shelter kitchen and tell him stories about working there, make him sandwiches with more mayo than his mom let him have.

The people are the shelter were…less willing to let him get away with the bitchiness. Howard would tell him he needed to respect others, everyone was fighting their own fight and being rude wasn’t gonna help anyone. Gloria tells him he needs to drop the attitude, there’s folks that need his help here and he doesn’t get to be nasty to em. Lydia just lets him grumble under his breath then pats his knee and tells him it’s okay, he’ll get through this.

So, yeah, Miles is used to a weird schedule, and he’s used to Feast. When the Devil’s Breath cure gets released to the general public, he sits with his mom in their med tent and checks off names for her. He sits patiently, explaining how the cure works and what people should do when they get home. He breaks up arguments before they can turn into fights and thinks about all the people that didn’t get to make it to the tents.

The hospitals are still full of sick people but Oscorp sent out huge shipments of the vaccine to those so they’re good. For the ones that didn’t make it to the hospitals, or to a tent, volunteers are doing door-to-door house calls. Things are getting better, slow sure, but it’s getting there.

There’s a trending hashtag “ _#ExorciseMe_ ” and people are using it to get help if they can’t move or they can’t safely go to the hospital. Miles knows there’s a lot of reasons people can’t go to the actual hospital, that there’s people who don’t have the safety of that, so they come to the tents, or they use the hashtag.

…or they don’t and someone finds them later, curled up in a corner, dead, or they don’t get found at all. The body count is still—it’s still rising and there’s no real estimate on how high it’ll get. People don’t really want to think about how many people died, in their beds, in the hospital, out in the streets. No one wants to think about all the funerals.

Miles has to though, because Aunt May’s is gonna be in a couple days. Peter’s still getting everything together, still has stuff to work out before he can really give a date. Miles is invited, and his mom, and he knows MJ’ll be there, maybe some people from Feast. Then there’ll be a memorial at all the Feast shelters, not just for Aunt May, for all the people they lost to Devil’s.

Peter’s been talking about a plaque maybe, a little something to remember everyone. Miles thinks it’s a great idea, everyone deserves to get remembered, and Dr Michaels said he’d try his best to get it done. One plaque with all the names at each Feast location, pinned up to a wall maybe, but somewhere people could see.

When his patient shuffles off, holding cotton to his arm, Miles takes a chance to check his phone for messages and news updates. The Devil’s tag is still going strong and someone set up a map with pins everywhere that people needed help, so that’s good. There’s also the _“#Spidey4Mayor_ ” one that’s been trending for a week straight, and slowly morphing into “ _Spidey4President_ ”.

Miles hasn’t seen Spidey since that last bad night, about a week now, but he’s been on the news and social media’s been crazy with him. People saw him fight Doc Ock for the serum, and they saw him take the tentacle to the shoulder, and everyone’s just Spidey crazy right now. There’s even a gofundme for Spidey’s hospital bills, if he has those, Miles isn’t sure.

He knows Spidey’s been helping people get to the hospitals and the tents. He’s quicker than ambulances and he knows New York apartments better than medical personnel. People have even talked about a _“#Spidey4Ambulance_ ” thing and Miles has to laugh.

When he can at least, everything’s been way too busy. No school because Mayor Osborn called them off until Devil’s is properly dealt with, but Miles has had other stuff going on. Vaccines in the morning with mom, catching up on school work in the evening, and sometimes he heads over to Feast to make sure things are still good. They’ve really been struggling without Mr Li and Aunt May—

“Miles, mijo, we’re done for the day,” his mom says, smiling soft, but tired. Miles smiles back and starts packing things up.

He’s really proud of his mom, she’s been pulling triple shifts at the hospital and she’s the head nurse at the vaccine tent. She’s doing so much and he’s just glad he can be there to help her. He knows she’s missing dad more than ever but she never says it, and sometimes Miles wants to, but he doesn’t.

Dad still isn’t…still isn’t something they talk about yet. Still too fresh, the explosion, the Demons. He doesn’t—doesn’t really know how to talk about any of that yet, so he doesn’t try.

Sometimes he thinks about calling up Uncle Aaron, he wasn’t there for the funeral, hasn’t answered any of mom’s calls but maybe, maybe he’d answer Miles? It’s been years since they saw him, years since they heard from him, but dad had his number, gave Aaron Miles’ number too. Just in case, just to be safe, but what good’d it do anyway? Won’t bring dad back, won’t make Uncle Aaron any less mad about the fight between him and dad.

“Thanks mom,” he mumbles, and it’s partly for the clipboard she hands him and part just being so glad he has her. She was there in the morning when he got home and told her everything. About sneaking around and nearly getting squashed by the Rhino and fighting off those guys. And he told her about nearly getting caught in the fire, and meeting Spider-Man, and Aunt May…passing away, and about spending time making sandwiches for Spider-Man.

She just let him talk, listened to everything but didn’t interrupt, and when he ran out of things to say, she hugged him and told him how proud she was of him. How he was so brave for doing what he did, helping like he did, and how proud dad would be too. Maybe they cried a little bit on the couch but it was that kind of mood.

He was alive, safe, she was okay even though she was so close to the outbreak. They were both alive and okay, and things were gonna get better. God, he loves his mom.

“Do you want me to drop you off at Feast?” she asks as he packs the used-up syringes in a box for disposal. This whole thing is costing a lot but the expenses are being covered by companies and the Mayor, mostly. The funerals got covered by him personally, and Miles wonders if that’ll make people more likely to re-elect him.

“Sure, Pete’s supposed to be there,” Pete’s been there, all week in fact. Miles doesn’t think there’s a single time he’s called that Pete hasn’t been at Feast, and he’s been calling a lot, cause he feels really bad he didn’t get the chance during the outbreak.

Pete said he was working with Spider-Man to deal with Ock, said he was the only one that knew the neural network well enough to disable it, so Miles didn’t feel as bad. Still kinda bad though. He didn’t call him when Aunt May took a turn and he should’ve, Pete deserved to have those last few moments with his Aunt.

“I’m glad we met him Miles, he’s a good man,” his mom says and Miles glances at her, brows raised, cause he can always tell when she wants to say more. Right now she does but she’s not doing it, she’s just watching him with this expression he can’t pin down.

Her eyebrows are bunched together and her lips are turned down, but she doesn’t look mad, or disappointed or anything. He’d say worried but that’s not it either. He wants to ask what’s wrong, but the expression falls away and she shifts from looking at him to looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, Dr Jules, we finished vaccines early,” she calls, and Miles takes that as his cue to leave. Whatever she wanted to say, she’ll probably say it later, for now she’s gotta check in with her supervisor and Miles heads for their car.

He sits in the front seat and checks twitter, reads up on the latest Spidey ambulance story, and watches his mom talk with her supervisor over by the tent. Hopefully everything’ll be back to normal by next week and no one will be on the verge of dying. And, as weird as it is, he actually kinda misses school.

He misses his friends and worrying about tests instead of what nutjob’d try and break into the shelter next. He misses having a schedule even though it doesn’t feel so weird not to have one. He just kinda misses things not being in crisis mode all the time, though this is New York, it’s always two seconds away from crisis mode.

“I’m back on ward tomorrow and you have the rest of the week off,” his mom says as she slides into the driver’s seat with a sigh. She looks tired and Miles knows how she feels. It’s not about how much you do, not really, it’s how much you gotta deal with.

He wonders how she does it all the time, working at the hospital must be like crisis mode 24/7. He had a week of that and he felt like he was eighty-nine, his arms hurt, legs hurt, joints creaked. He felt like he was going through the first stages of Devil’s, but he wasn’t, they checked him out before they gave him the vaccine just in case.

“Cool, I’ll hang out with Ganke maybe,” he shrugs as she pulls away smoothly. At three in the afternoon, the roads are still unnervingly empty for New York, people are still getting back on their feet. Shops are open though, office buildings, but there’s less people crowding the streets, lots less tourists.

“Or, you’ll head to Feast,” she finishes, smiling at him and he grins, cause yeah. Feast is like, it’s friendly. Miles has never volunteered at a shelter before but he never thought it would be like that. Everyone there’s got their own thing going on, they’ve got their own lives, they help each other out and they ask for help on their own terms.

Plus Peter’s there and Peter’s great, smarter than anyone else Miles has ever met. He’s worked with Reed Richards, that’s incredible. And Doctor Octavius was pretty incredible too, no matter what he did, his work was still there and he’d helped a lot of people with it before. So it’s…kinda weird to think he was the one that hurt the city like that, he was a good man and then he wasn’t, and Miles knows.

He _knows_ things are more complicated than that but it’s hard to get sometimes, Dr Octavius had such a reputation for all the good he did. They stop at a light and Miles looks at the graffiti on a wall, a huge white spider, for Spidey, and he wonders if Spidey knew Ock too, like Pete did. Pete and Spidey work together, Miles never thought he’d be in the know like that but he is, and he’s been wondering how Spidey’s handling all this too.

Does he have a family? Maybe him and MJ aren’t dating; she was really freaked when he came in beat up that night but…so was Miles. He was scared, really scared, and he’s not dating Spider-Man.

“Miles, I just…I worry about you, mijo,” his mom sighs and Miles stares as they pull away from the spider. She’s got that look again, hands curled around the steering wheel too tight, lips pressed too tight.

“Anything could happen, we never know, and I feel like I haven’t been keeping you as close as I should,” she says, voice so low Miles has to lean close to hear. Her lips are trembling but her eyes are locked on the road.

He’s seen his mom cry before, seen her close to tears before, but he’s never seen her like this. She’s…she looks…scared. His mom is scared, for him, about what could happen.

“Mom, I’m right here, nothing bad is gonna happen,” he promises, even though he can’t know that, definitely can’t know that. He says it because he wants it to be true, because what else is he supposed to say? Can he say anything else without freaking out? Cause this is pretty freak out territory right here.

His mom’s scared for him and he’s scared for her and wow, maybe he should’ve taken Pete up on that family group counselling thing at Feast. The one for all the people caught in Devil’s. He thought he was good, it was over, things were going back to normal and he was good. Now though, now he’s not so sure.

Everything feels so wrong, feels like it’s made of wet paper and he’s gotta be real careful so he doesn’t rip.

He misses his dad.

“I know mijo, but I wish I could believe that, my gut says we should leave this city but I don’t know where we could go. This is our home,” she trails off, eyes staring out the window. Somehow, she’s still not done but Miles really doesn’t know how much more he can take.

The city’s all he knows, it’s home. He lives here, he has school here, friends. This is the city his dad protected and the one his mom saves lives in. He can’t imagine leaving, but he can’t imagine going through something like Devil’s again. He doesn’t want to deal with something like that and the thing is, New York’s a wild place, there’s so many people out there that’d hurt the city just to further their own agenda.

No one can guarantee Devil’s won’t happen again, not even Spider-Man. The Raft got broken into, the **_Raft_**. That place was as max security as it got, and it still had a break out. No one can even say when the next time’s gonna be, next week, next month? A year from now? No one knows, and that’s terrifying, makes his stomach cramp and his hands clench up.

But he still doesn’t want to leave.

The car stopping catches him off guard and when he looks up, there’s Feast. Same as always, there’s Feast. There’s Marty out front, having a smoke, and there’s Pete talking with someone just a little bit past beyond the wall.

There’s Feast.

“Call me when you’re done tonight, I don’t want you walking around alone, okay?” his mom tells him, pulling him in quick for a kiss and a hug, and Miles doesn’t fight it. He lets her squeeze him tight and he doesn’t mind the lipstick stain she leaves on his forehead, he needs it just as much as she does.

“Sure mom, love you,” he calls as he gets out of the car, snagging his bag just before the door swings shut. Out on the sidewalk is cold, winter’s really right there huh, and his mom waves before she pulls way from the curb.

Then it’s just him but he’s outside of Feast, so nah, it’s not just him. There’s Peter right over there and there’s people just inside that he can see, and of course Marty’s still shivering and smoking himself calm. May told him about Marty, the guy was an addict, smoked more’n a pack a day, to calm his bad nerves.

Miles doesn’t know the whole story, May didn’t like gossip but she wanted Miles to understand, Marty needed help and Feast gave him that help. They didn’t judge at Feast, they let people move at their own pace and they gave them a support network to rely on. A week before everything went to shit, Marty was down to two smokes a day, morning and night, and after, Miles thinks he’s still there.

 “Hey Miles, didn’t expect to see you today,” Marty says when he notices Miles there, smiling cause he’s a friendly guy. He likes people, and people like him.

 Miles thinks May would be proud of Marty, he cut down and he stuck to his limit. During Devil’s they didn’t get to see him, he was off at one of the other locations, but Miles is glad to see him again. Familiar face and all that. Makes things easier, makes falling back into routine not as hard.

“I had some time, thought I’d come by and see what everyone’s doing,” he shrugs, wandering over. It’s cold, he should probably go inside, but he doesn’t want to just yet. He just needs, he needs a second to breathe.

He just needs a little while to get his head on right and remember why he’s here and how there’s people he can talk to about this. He’s not alone, there’s his mom and Peter and everyone at Feast. Heck, he could even call Ganke and talk for a while, not that it’d get anywhere, cause neither of them is really all that good at the emotions thing but Ganke’d listen. He’s a good friend like that.

“Things are getting better, one day at a time, right?” Marty says and Miles smiles cause yeah, one day at time. They’ve got tons of posters like that, whole boxes for when the old ones fade out. He used to think they were cheesy, kinda like pity, but there’s people who need that kinda thing. Just a little thing to say to themselves to keep going, y’know?

“I uh, I called my mom yesterday, see how she was. Haven’t talked to her in a while but I thought I’d give it a shot,” Matry keeps going and Miles shifts, tilts his head so Marty can tell he’s listening. Though, Marty’s looking across the street, at the traffic light, at the café on the corner.

He’s fidgeting with his jacket, playing with the zipper, fumbling the cigarette between his fingers. Those nerves of his getting the better of him, and Miles sees him reach for the half pack he keeps in his front pocket, crumpled and probably down to one or two smokes.

“She’s…she’s okay, her and my-ah, my lil sister. I didn’t know I had one but she’s—her name is Rissa, she’s four,” Marty laughs, a little breathless, a little desperate, but his hand falls away from his pocket. He takes a breath, a deep one that’s not full of smoke, and smudges his almost finished cigarette on the wall they’re huddled against.

“Hey, why don’t we head inside and you can tell me more about Rissa, if you want,” Miles offers, smiling the smile he’s seen volunteers give. The one that’s just a little off, maybe too wide, but still genuine.

People get training for this kind of thing, sensitivity training, how to keep people calm or bring them back down if they’re not. Miles is just a volunteer, just a kid, he’s still learning, but he knows how to smile. And Marty, Marty nods, coughs into his sleeve and they head up the stairs together, but Miles stops at the door.

From the top of the stairs he can see over the low wall at the front and he can see Pete still talking with that guy. Usually that’d be no big deal, Pete talks with a lot of people about Feast, he’s finally an official employee and he’s helping Dr Michaels run the place. The guy might just be one of the restaurant owners that donates food or something, but Miles doesn’t think so.

There’s something off about how Pete’s standing, head tipped down, not up at the guy’s face, and his hands are crossed in front of him. And there’s the guy too, he’s waving his hands around but it doesn’t look like it’s for emphasis. From this far it’s hard to make out their expressions but he knows Pete isn’t smiling or actually talking much.

“Uh Marty, I’ll see you inside, just gotta check with Pete real quick, cool?” he asks, glancing back at Peter and that guy, and Marty nods. He’s looking too, which is good, Marty’ll probably send someone out if Miles doesn’t come in. And Miles will make a scene if the guy doesn’t let Pete leave soon.

Miles wants to say he’s never seen anything like this before but that’d be a lie. He’s definitely seen this before cause not everyone loves Feast. They’ve had protestors before, people with placards and megaphones, marching up and down the sidewalk outside a branch. Sometimes it was people who didn’t agree with rehab for the homeless, or it was people who didn’t think they deserved it, or ones who didn’t like the shelters being in a “ _respectable neighbourhood_ ”.

Then after Li, it was all about taking down an establishment created by that terrorist psycho. Lots of volunteers got harassed after that, held up outside the shelter, cussed at, threatened. Miles doesn’t know which one this guy is but clearly he’s got a problem. And for once, Pete’s wearing an official Feast id card.

“I already told you sir, I can’t let you inside,” Pete’s saying as Miles creeps up, rounding the wall but sticking close. The guy’s back is to him now but he’s still careful, never can be too careful.

Now he can see Pete’s face though and he’s frowning, brows furrowed, he looks a lot like his Aunt. She used to deal with protestors too, with her hands on her hips, reciting the code of conduct for minutes at a time and talking over whoever it was. Sometimes she’d take one look at the person and threaten to call the cops if they didn’t leave.

Somehow, Miles doesn’t think Pete’s gonna threaten this guy with the cops. It’s not a macho thing, Pete’s just really considerate of people, he’d probably think it was a waste of their time when they were already so busy. Pete’s also really dumb.

“I came here to see my damn wife and you can’t stop me kid,” the man growls, hand flying a little too wild for comfort but Pete doesn’t even flinch. He stands there, arms crossed, glaring at this guy that definitely has a problem. They get a couple of these every other week, abusers hunting people down, demanding to see them.

Usually the actual employees take care of them, telling them they’re not allowed inside, or they bring security with them and run the people off. Feast is a safe place, it’s supposed to be safe, and everyone in it tries to keep it that way. Miles has never seen Peter dealing with one of those people and he’s not an official employee, but he’s still part of Feast, and he’s still standing right there, stopping this guy from getting any closer.

“It’s against Feast code of conduct to let unauthorised persons onto the compound. You need to leave, _now_.” And Miles swears he’s heard that tone before but he has no idea where. He’s thinking about it, thinking too hard about it, and misses how the guy shifts his stance in a move so obvious Miles feels like an idiot when he just stares.

Just stares with his jaw slack and his eyes wide as the guy throws a punch at Pete. For a second, just one wild, crazy second, Miles swears Pete’s gonna duck it, or he’s gonna grab the guy’s wrist and flip him over like a movie. He thinks Pete is gonna shift around it and lay the guy out with an uppercut so fast Miles probably won’t see it.

The sound of skin hitting skin is always way quieter than Miles expects it to be, punches are nothing like the movies make them out to be. The guy’s knuckles connecting with Peter’s cheek sounds like a dull thud, like a frozen chicken falling on the floor. And Miles just stares as Peter jerks to the side, and Miles thinks ‘wow, that’s familiar’, then his brain catches up with him.

“Hey leave him alone!” Miles yells, loud enough that people across the street stop and stare, loud enough that people inside Feast will hear. The guy rounds on him, back to Peter, and Miles can taste his heart in the back of his throat, beating a mile a minute.

Mr Harasser isn’t huge or anything but he’s still bigger than Miles, bigger than Peter, he’s gotta be at least six feet tall, probably more. So he’s bigger but Miles knows how to deal with guys that are bigger than him, _Spider-Man_ taught him how, and Miles knows how to throw a punch but he really doesn’t want to. He will though, cause Pete’s cradling his face but he’s glaring at the guy, and he’s also moving, shifting ever so slightly.

Mr Harasser keeps his eyes on Miles, but he’s glancing at the people across the street and up at Feast, they’re not alone after all. Behind him, Peter’s getting closer and Mile’s has a wild idea, that Pete’s gonna clock the guy on the back of the head. Or flip over him and land in between the two of them.

“This is none of your business, and none of his either, I’m here for my _wife_ and I’m not letting two kids stop me,” Mr Harasser snarls and Miles starts to shake, adrenaline and fear flooding his everything.

“You heard what he said, you gotta go!” his voice pitches up and his hands shake but he can curl them into fists and bring them up. People across the street are staring now, pointing, and Miles doesn’t have to glance behind to know someone’s just come out of Feast.

“Mr Leonards, your wife does _not_ want to see you and I will call the police if you touch our volunteer,” and suddenly there’s Peter, standing between Miles and Mr Harasser. He doesn’t flip over the guy’s head or do anything fancy, he just edged closer until he could step in place. He’s got his whole body angled towards Mr Harasser but he’s got a hand back towards Miles, keeping him behind and close, just in case something happens.

Then there’s more footsteps and Miles does look this time, a quick peek over the shoulder, and there’s Greg, the evening shift guard, and Marty. Greg’s got his taser out and Marty’s standing behind and that’s two more people that Mr Harasser has to deal with if he wants to see his wife.

“What’s going on out here?” Greg asks, slowly walking up until he’s next to Peter, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, and Marty shuffles up next to Miles. The adrenaline doesn’t fade away, not like that, not that fast, but Miles lets his hands drop and forces himself to stand straight.

“Mr Leonards was just leaving,” Pete explains, voice harder than Miles has ever heard it. He just took one to the jaw and he sounds like he’s gonna splat Mr Harasser on the street, geeze this guy. Maybe his mom was right to worry about Peter, he needed someone around to make sure he didn’t do stupid bullshit like this.

Mr Harasser opens his mouth to say something but Greg brings the taser up and Peter takes a step, and the guy backs off. His shoulders slump and his frown turns into a grimace but he stalks away instead of escalating anything. They all watch him cross the street and bend into the cold breeze that’s whipping down the road, and Miles shivers when it gets to them.

“Geeze Pete, call for help quicker next time,” Grey grumbles, putting his taser back in the holder and tsking when Peter does his little “ _what can y’do?”_ shrug. Miles really feels it when Greg grabs Pete by the arm and starts dragging him back to Feast to get his face looked at, and Miles is glad it’s not him. Him dragging Pete that is, Peter’s stubborn, Miles isn’t sure Pete would’ve gone with him.

Greg though, well it’s hard to say no to Greg, he won’t let you. Miles can hear his muttering about dumb kids who don’t know when to call for help all the way up the stairs and for a little while after the door closes behind him. And he can hear Pete apologising just as loud, how he’s really fine, the black eye’ll clear up on its own. Miles knows Greg’s just worried, Pete’s been around the shelter for a long time, he’s practically family, even if he doesn’t like keeping himself on file.

“I was gonna bring Greg out anyway but you shouting got him moving way faster, good job keeping cool,” Marty says and Miles shrugs, it’s…anyone would’ve come over. If Marty noticed, he would’ve come over first. Shit just happens sometimes.

“C’mon, it’s cold out here,” Miles says after a while, _not_ thinking about the way Pete stumbled back when that guy hit him. And _not_ thinking about the way Pete got in front of him and kept a hand out, protecting Miles like he didn’t just get punched in the face.

He doesn’t think about it while he helps people find winter clothes that actually fit, or helps get dinner ready, or even when Pete wanders by with a bruise on his face. Miles doesn’t think about, totally doesn’t, but’s real glad when he’s ready to leave and Pete comes to walk him out, and there’s no bruise.  It’s kinda weird but that’s Peter Parker all over, no bruise to talk about, no bruise for his mom to see, and no bruise to worry about.

“Bye Pete, see you tomorrow,” he calls as his mom pulls away, waving at Peter as he gets smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and if you wanna swing by and chat about Spidey, hmu at [darkeecofreak](http://darkeecofreak.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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